Losing a Parent Made Me Not Want to Become a Parent Again

I watched my girls splashing and playing in the bath. Big sister was filling a squirt bottle and dousing little sister's hair. Little sister was submerging a comb beneath the water and "jumping" it back out of the water, pretending it was a giant whale. Just two children, innocent and carefree. And as mother's often do, I used the moment to multitask, sorting through the cabinet beside the bathtub, straightening up sticky bottles of seldom-used hair product and often-used bottles of cleaning supplies.

Out of my daughters' eyesight, but still inside the bathroom, I listened while their banter continued, and then came to a sudden stop. "Mom? MOOOM?!" My preschooler frantically cried out for me. I shut the cabinet door and poked my head around the side of the tub. "What's wrong, honey?" I half expected her to have soap in her eyes or tell me a sob story about how her little sister had stolen the squirt bottle from her.

She stood up in the knee-deep water, shivering from the chilly air on wet skin. Her eyes looked terrified. "Oh, I thought you left the bathroom. I didn't know where you were." She couldn't see me, even though I was just two feet away, and she was scared. And truth be told, so was I.

You see, I know what it's like to expect to look up and see your parent, lovingly observing you, and suddenly realize they're not there. That sudden shock has been happening to me for the past month, since the sudden loss of my father.

Much like my girls splashing and playing without concern, a parent's presence makes you feel safe. Loved. Even when you have children of your own, you still need your mom and dad. My father's death not only came unexpectedly, but at a time when I was most vulnerable. Just two short weeks after we lost our sweet baby in utero. I was the unwilling poster child of the sandwich generation, mourning on both ends of the spectrum.

As my body slowly returns to "normal," I realize my life will never be the same. My girls are missing their grandfather, and I desperately want the parental safety blanket back. I feel so exposed. Initially, I thought I might want to fill this double void by creating new life again, but now, I'm not so sure. While I would rejoice at the prospect of another pregnancy, it's not something I'm actively pursuing.

While I may never understand why I was cut with this double-edged sword, I do know this: The time I spent recuperating at my parent's house after my D&C and laparoscopy are precious moments I will never regret. Had I not gone through the first loss, I wouldn't have had the generous gift of time with my father before he left this earth. It's a small comfort, but I'll take what I can get.

And, perhaps, that's the biggest reason that losing a parent has made me not want to become a parent again (at least for now). It reaffirmed that time passes quickly, our loved ones are not guaranteed one more minute on this earth, and we should enjoy what we've been given, rather than focusing on what might be, or could be.

So for now, I'll enjoy those mundane minutes in the bathroom while my girls splash and play in the tub, for soon, they turn into hours, and days and months and years. Because someday, my daughter's cries for me will go unanswered, when I, too, vanish just like my father.

Cat Poland

Cat Poland, a.k.a. Mom on the Range, writes mostly field notes from the front lines of parenting, but you may find a few gems about faith, cooking, farm life, marriage, or anything else that gets her hot and bothered (mostly bothered, rarely hot). She simply opens up her heart, and pulls out a story. She lives in the middle of a Kansas wheat field with her two young daughters and tough-yet-tender husband. She's passionate about helping moms live their best life, and is a passionate advocate for healthier media images for girls. She likes coffee, wine, sushi and chocolate (in that order). While she begrudgingly puts on her running shoes from time to time, she's most happy in a prairie skirt and her favorite Ariat boots.

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